Rushing In: A Small Town Family Romance

by Claire Kingsley

  A knock at the front door jolted me from my thoughts. I took a quick breath and turned off the water. Leaving the plate in the sink, I went to answer the door.

  If the knock had startled me, the person standing outside almost made me jump out of my skin.

  Gavin Bailey.

  My heart suddenly beat too fast and a flush hit my cheeks. Great, I was blushing for no reason. I opened my mouth to say… something, I didn’t really know what, although hi would probably have been a decent start. Only I got all tangled in my thoughts, still half-thinking about a body caught in a beaver dam and how it had gotten there.

  “I don’t know,” I blurted out.

  The corner of Gavin’s mouth hooked in a smile. “You don’t know what?”

  Oh god, how embarrassing. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else and I guess my brain wasn’t finished thinking it.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “A body caught in a beaver dam.”

  “How’d it get there?”

  “That’s what I don’t know. But that’s not even the most important question.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is the important question?”

  “Where’s the story?”

  “That is an important question.” He shifted his weight on his crutches. “Can I come in?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry again.”

  “No problem. I’ve just been on my feet a lot today.”

  I stepped aside so he could come in and it was impossible not to notice the way his muscles flexed as he walked. The crutches necessitated use of his upper body strength, something he clearly had in spades. He wasn’t huge and bulky, but he was athletic. That was a good word for it. And toned. So very, very toned.

  And now my face was getting warmer.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about what Ginny had said about Gavin being a hot firefighter. Because Gavin Bailey was the definition of hot firefighter. He was January and December and all the months in between in every hot firefighter calendar ever made.

  If you were into that sort of thing, of course.

  Which I wasn’t.

  Okay, that was a total lie.

  Gavin had thick dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and soft brown eyes that did all sorts of terrible things to my insides when he looked at me. And his body. God. I followed him into the kitchen, tilting my head to watch his ass as he walked. The way he filled out his jeans was nothing short of remarkable.

  “Sky?”

  I gasped, realizing that not only had I walked into the kitchen without noticing where I was or what I was doing, but he’d sat down at the table, leaving his crutches leaning against it while I’d been lost in thought.

  “Sorry. I was just… thinking again.”

  “About bodies found in a beaver dam?”

  No, but that’s a better answer than the way your ass looks in your jeans. “Yeah.”

  “Is that for the book you’re writing? I guess that’s a dumb question. Of course it is. You’re not a detective or FBI agent who’d be investigating a real body found in a beaver dam.”

  “No. Just a writer. And not really. I was just doing the dishes and it got me thinking.”

  “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Think.”

  I blinked at him. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “No.”

  Laughing softly, I sat at the table with him. “I suppose it was my turn for a dumb question. Of course not everybody thinks a lot.”

  “Nope. I have some friends who never think about anything. Or at least it seems like they don’t.”

  “Then what do they do all the time?” I asked, although I hadn’t really meant to ask it aloud.

  He tapped the table with his index finger. “They do stuff, I guess. Work, eat, hang out with their buddies or girlfriends, drink beer, sleep.”

  “Sounds kind of nice. Simpler.”

  “Simpler than what?”

  I took a deep breath to clear my head. “Simpler than thinking too much. Which I’m pretty good at doing.”

  “Overthinker, huh? Good to know.”

  “Why is that good to know?”

  He shrugged. “Just is.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you doing here? My dad’s at work.”

  “Oh, I know. I was just there.”

  “So why are you here?”

  He grinned at me, flashing those dangerous dimples. “I brought cookies.”

  “That’s… nice but strange.”

  “Why strange?” He set a plastic container on the table.

  “Do you always bring random girls cookies?”

  He paused, like he was thinking about it. “No. But you’re not a random girl either. Anyway, I made cookies earlier and I figured I’d bring you some.”

  “You made these?”

  “Yep. My friend Cara was bored and invited me over to bake with her.”

  His friend Cara? What did that mean? And why did the thought of him baking cookies with someone named Cara make my spine prickle like I’d been poked with a needle?

  “Oh.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Not that kind of friend.” He took a cookie out of the container and set it in front of me. “Try one.”

  I glanced between him and the cookie.

  “Are you always so suspicious? Here.” He took the cookie, broke it in half, shoved some in his mouth, and set the other half back in front of me.

  I picked it up and took a bite. My teeth sank into a perfect combination of chewy and crumbly. The chocolate chips were still a little warm and melty.

  “Wow. This is really good.”

  He licked the corner of his mouth and I was too mesmerized by the sight of his tongue on his lip to realize he was, consciously or unconsciously, signaling that I had chocolate on my face. Until he reached over and swiped it with his thumb.

  His sudden touch surprised me so much I gasped.

  Then he put his thumb in his mouth and sucked off the chocolate.

  It was moments like this that made me question the power of the brain body connection—or at least question which direction it ran. Was my brain in charge of my body, or the other way around? Because right now, my body was telling my brain things that were very bad.

  So very, very bad.

  Flee, Skylar. Run like the wind. Save yourself.

  I stood abruptly and grabbed a paper towel off the roll. “Do you need one?”

  “Sure.”

  I didn’t know why I was so flustered. I told myself—firmly—to get it together, and handed him a paper towel.

  “Thanks.”

  For a second, I contemplated whether I should sit down again. A part of me wished he’d go. He made me jumpy and that smile of his was a deadly weapon.

  But another part of me—a big part, if I was being honest—did want to sit down. Wanted to hear him talk and gaze at him in all his hot firefighter glory.

  A firefighter. I’d never written about a firefighter before. His nemesis could be a serial arsonist and when a string of seemingly unrelated fires turn deadly—

  I gasped. Again. Not because Gavin had interrupted my thoughts. He was just sitting there, casually watching me. Patient. Like he wasn’t annoyed that my attention had just wandered for who knew how long.

  “Sorry.” I sat down.

  “That’s okay. Still thinking about bodies in beaver dams, or was that something new?”

  I smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Something new. I was thinking about how you’re a firefighter.” I left out hot deliberately. “And how I’ve never written about a firefighter before.”

  “But where’s the story?”

  “Well… maybe there’s an arsonist. And the firefighter wants to help catch him. Or her, although I think arsonists are statistically more likely to be male.”

  “What if the firefighter is the arsonist?”


  “That could be an interesting twist. Although it changes the dynamic of the story. Does the reader know he’s the arsonist? Or is that slowly revealed throughout the course of the book?”

  “What if the firefighter arsonist is friends with a detective who’s on the case? And the detective has to face the reality that he’s investigating his friend.”

  “Arson and betrayal. That’s definitely compelling.”

  “Too dark?”

  “I write about serial killers. Too dark isn’t really an issue.”

  “Fair enough. Well, if you need to do any research on firefighters, I’m your guy. Although I guess you could just talk to your dad.”

  “Speaking of my dad, did he send you here?”

  “Nope.” His lips popped on the P. “But I did tell him I was coming. He’s totally on board.”

  “On board with what?”

  “With me being your first friend in Tilikum.”

  “That’s why you brought me a cookie?”

  “Cookies are a great way to make friends.”

  I laughed. “True.”

  “Here’s the thing. You’re new in town and you could use someone to show you around. Introduce you to people, help you navigate the ins and outs of life in Tilikum.”

  “Could I?”

  “Definitely. And I’m the perfect guy for the job.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Who else has tons of time on his hands, knows pretty much everyone, and is also super fun to hang out with?”

  “I don’t know. I’m new in town.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So… you want to be friends because you’re bored?”

  His brow furrowed. Nothing sexy about that expression. Nope. Not at all.

  Liar.

  “What makes you think I’m bored?”

  “Aren’t you? I assume you’re on leave until your leg heals.”

  “Yeah. And, you’re right, I am bored. Although not right now. I haven’t been bored since I got here. And that’s not the reason I want to be friends.”

  “Why do you want to be friends?”

  “Because you’re interesting and cool to hang out with. And, okay, I do need something to do and showing you around Tilikum sounds fun.”

  This made me nervous. Gavin Bailey made me nervous. He was trouble. I could feel it.

  “I’m sure you’re really nice. But no matter what my dad told you, I’m fine. I don’t need someone to take me under their wing and show me around town. I can find my way on my own.”

  “But that won’t be nearly as much fun.”

  That half smile and those dimples hinted at all kinds of fun.

  Trouble. This one was trouble, Skylar. Dad even said so.

  “My friend Ginny is coming to town soon. She’ll be staying for a while.”

  “So?”

  “So then I’ll have a friend in town.”

  “She’ll be even newer than you are. That’s just the blind leading the blind.”

  I laughed. “It’s not like this is high school and I’m going to forget how to find my locker or where to go for third period math.”

  “No, it’s worse. It’s adulthood.”

  “Are you one of those people who loved high school?”

  He scowled. “God, no. I hated high school.”

  “Really? You weren’t the popular football captain or something?”

  “No, I was. But I still hated it.”

  I didn’t know why I found that so fascinating. But I did. “I doubt it will surprise you that I was the mousy shy girl who never talked.”

  “That does surprise me, actually.”

  “I was. We wouldn’t have been friends.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re friends now.”

  “Are we?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, like something he was thinking amused him. “Don’t think, just answer fast. Do you want to be my friend?”

  “Yes.” I blinked in surprise.

  He pointed at me. “See? Told you.”

  I laughed. “How do I know this isn’t all a ploy to get in my pants?”

  “Man, I really want to be offended by that, but it’s a fair question. I’m good at ploys to get in a girl’s pants. But that’s not what I’m doing. I even promised your dad.”

  Promised my dad? That was interesting. Promised him what? That he wouldn’t try to get in my pants? That he had no intention of dating me? It made sense, in a way. Dad was Gavin’s boss. He’d want to tread carefully where his boss’s daughter was concerned.

  And maybe that was easy because he wasn’t interested in me anyway.

  But something about that promise, well intentioned though it might have been, poked a latent sense of rebellion deep inside me.

  I nervously tucked my hair behind my ear again, shaking off the little rush of heat trying to surge through my veins. “Well that’s good. Because my pants are fully buttoned right now.”

  “Come on, Sky. Just humor me. Let’s hang out tomorrow.”

  “Hang out and do what?”

  “I’ll come up with something awesome. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I worry about everything.”

  “You don’t have to worry about this.” He paused and caught his lower lip with his teeth for a second. “Besides, it’s the least you can do. You did hit me with your car.”

  I crumpled the paper towel in my fist and tossed it at him. “That’s not fair.”

  Laughing, he batted it away. “I’m teasing. How about this. Please hang out with me tomorrow?”

  Oh my god. As if anyone could tell that man no when he looked at them like that.

  Which was precisely the problem.

  Gavin Bailey was trouble.

  Irresistible trouble.

  “Okay. I’ll hang out with you tomorrow.”

  He smiled again. Cute brown eyes, white teeth, dimples. God he was adorable.

  So.

  Much.

  Trouble.

  “Awesome. It’ll be the Adventures of Gav and Sky.”

  Adventures? That word gave me a ping of anxiety. What if he wanted to do something scary?

  But as we made plans to get together the next day, all I could really think about was how much I liked it when he called me Sky.

  9

  Skylar

  A jittery buzz of nervous energy thrummed through me as I sat waiting for Gavin at the Steaming Mug coffee shop. I glanced down at my clothes. Had I worn the right outfit? The September air was chilly, the leaves starting to turn orange, yellow, and red. I’d chosen a pale blue sweater, jeans, and a pair of not practical, but very cute heels.

  They were low heels, nothing crazy. Blue with little white polka-dots. I hadn’t worn them in… I didn’t know how long. I didn’t have occasion to wear heels all that often. Since I found myself with the need to venture outside the relative safety of my dad’s house, I’d decided it was the perfect opportunity to treat myself to cute shoes.

  And I’d hoped the chance to wear them would distract me from my anxiety over today’s… whatever this was.

  It wasn’t working very well.

  The barista worked behind the counter, steaming milk for someone’s order. The soft hiss of steam prickled down my back, making all the little stabilizer muscles in my neck and shoulders tighten. Logically, I knew the sound wasn’t loud. No one else in the shop seemed bothered by it. But it made me long for my noise-canceling headphones.

  I fidgeted with a napkin, twisting it back and forth. I knew I didn’t have a good reason to be so anxious. Gavin was just going to show me around town, not take me skydiving or something equally terrifying. My state of distress didn’t make sense.

  But I felt it anyway.

  It made an uncomfortable pressure bloom between my legs. My cheeks warmed and I tried not to squirm in my seat. I hated it when this happened. Sometimes my hypersensitivity triggered an inexplicable sense of arousal. It was like my body w
ent on high alert and everything—and I mean everything—responded. It was so embarrassing to feel suddenly turned on by nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, I did my best to ignore the feeling. I glanced at napkin in my hands, twisted into a narrow strip. Like a rope.

  Rope… A series of murders occur across a large area, all with one thing in common. Strangulation. The victims have no apparent connection to each other. How is the killer choosing them? Who will be next? What clues are left behind that might point the investigators in the right direction? Is it a vigilante? Does it dredge up unresolved issues from childhood trauma for the investigator on the case? How does—

  The door opened, jarring me from my thoughts. It was someone on a mobility scooter, the kind you’d find in a grocery store, with a roomy wire basket in front.

  Wait, Gavin was driving.

  Oh my god. Had he hurt himself again and now he couldn’t walk?

  I sprang from my chair. “Gavin, what happened?”

  His scooter burst forward, then he jerked to a stop just shy of hitting a table.

  He grinned at me. “Hey, Sky.”

  “Did you hurt your other leg? Where are your crutches?”

  “No, I’m fine. I left them at Nature’s Basket.”

  “Why would you leave your crutches at the grocery store?”

  “Because I borrowed this.” He gestured to the scooter. “I figure if I’m going to show you around town, it’ll be easier if I don’t have to walk on crutches the whole time.”

  “I don’t think those are meant to be borrowed off premises.”

  “I left a note. I’m sure it’s fine. Are you ready?”

  “Um…”

  “You can bring your coffee.”

  “That’s okay, I’m finished, but—”

  He put the scooter in reverse, and it started beeping. I glanced around the shop. A few people were watching him with irritated expressions. I winced, wondering if I should apologize.

  “Hey Sky, can you get the door?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I held the door open while he struggled to turn the scooter around. There wasn’t much room between the tables. After a few starts and stops, he just backed up through the opening, beeping the entire way.